


Trolls

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shrek Fusion, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: SomeBODY once told me—
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	Trolls

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV, Shrek, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Ignis says showers are better than baths, but loading the mud up into the bucket is too much work, so Noctis just dives ass-first into the giant pit around the back of his hut, because that’s infinitely easier. And delightfully squishy. His cannonball jump splatters the green grass around him in thick chunks of mud, which is an extra bonus: it’s like redecorating _and_ bathing all at once. He slips down into the gooey brown tar all around him and groans in pleasure, because there’s nothing quite like being shoulder-deep in the bubbling, squelching, writhing _dirt_. 

He forgot to bring his scrub brush to really grind it in. That’s fine—Noctis scratches his rear under the surface and just uses his palms to rub the dirt all over his body. He’s barely gotten past his stomach when something echoes through the forest from the direction of the outhouse, but Noctis doesn’t straighten up like he probably should. It could very well be another mob of angry villagers coming to try and kill him, wanting the reward. Gladiolus would kill him if he wasn’t prepared for the fight and had to chase them off naked, but Noctis just can’t be bothered to get up. It’s not like the villagers’ petty pitchforks and torches are ever a _real_ threat. He can usually scare them off without even needing to call in the cavalry: just with a belch or a roar alone. And maybe it’s not even villagers—maybe it’s one of the two other ogres that mother-hen the heck out of him, even though he’s old enough to crack his own mirrors and catch his own maggots. Then a grey hide bursts through the trees, and Noctis knows exactly what he’s dealing with.

The donkey races to the edge of the bog, loses footing and comically slips forward, one hoof after the other. He falls onto his butt and quickly tries to back up, scrambling for purchase against the crumbling ground. Noctis can’t help but laugh as Prompto all but drags himself to shore. Once he’s scraped his hooves off on the grass, he’s more careful prancing around its perimeter, but he still bounces with more energy than Noctis will ever have.

He gets over to where Noctis is and chirps, “Noct, hey, ‘morning!”

Noctis opens his mouth to return the greeting but accidentally burps instead. Prompto snorts, but Noctis can’t help it if ogres are naturally gassy. He shrugs, and Prompto rolls right on. “You’ll never guess what I found today—”

“H—”

Prompto doesn’t actually wait for him to guess. “—Onions! Wild onions! They stink worse than your hut, but now I’m kinda fond of ‘em, so whatdya say we go dig some up and pig out?”

Noctis tilts his head. One the one hand, he doesn’t really want to bother gathering his own food, besides the within-easy-reach fistfuls of bugs under the rocks outside his hut. The more complicated stuff is what he has Ignis for. On the other hand, he _loves_ onions. Even though Prompto’s a safe distance back, Noctis can smell the onion on his breath and knows he already dug in. 

Because he can’t let his donkey have all the fun alone, Noctis decides, “Aight,” and crawls out of the swamp butt naked.


End file.
